The Truth about Beets
by Malvolia
Summary: When Dwight discovers a piece of paper covered with lies about beets, he and Andy form an unlikely alliance to track down the culprit...who they thoroughly expect to be Jim.


The break room door flung open to reveal Dwight Schrute, flourishing a crumpled piece of paper.

"Jim!"

"Dwight," Jim responded casually, not shifting his gaze from his computer screen even as his fuming co-worker stomped up and hovered over him.

"I know it was you. Don't deny it."

"I haven't denied anything."

"Ha! So you admit it!"

"I haven't admitted anything."

Dwight opened his mouth to argue the point, but snapped it shut again immediately. His jaw clenched as he counted slowly to three.

"Don't play your little semantic tricks on me, Halpert," he muttered, teeth still clenched. "I know it was you."

Jim looked over to Pam. They exchanged shrugs in what Dwight was positive was nothing more than a pretense of innocence.

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to have done," Jim said, turning back to his computer.

"Look me in the eye and say that."

Jim stood up and took a step closer to Dwight, so they were almost nose-to-nose. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to have done."

Dwight blinked furiously. "That…that's too close, I couldn't…."

"Couldn't what?"

"One of these days," Dwight snarled, "I'll get you."

Jim sat back down. "Sure. And my little dog, too."

Dwight whipped around and rushed back to the break room. Once inside, he wadded the paper he held into a tight ball and threw it as hard as he could towards the window, just as Andy entered the room.

"Whoa-ho," Andy exclaimed. "Let's be a little friendlier to the windows, shall we?"

"No," sneered Dwight. "We…shalln't."

"The word you're looking for is 'shan't,'" Andy pointed out helpfully. He was too busy picking up the paper and unfolding it to hear Dwight muttering that "shan't" was not the word he was looking for at all. "Hm. This appears to be an article about beets. I thought you liked beets."

"I do," said Dwight. "I like the _truth _about beets."

Andy nodded and began reading aloud from the sheet. "'Beets: Nature's Justly Maligned Fruit.'"

"Beets," snapped Dwight, "are not a fruit. They are a vegetable. No. They are not just a vegetable, they are vegetables, plural. And 'justly maligned'? It's not even possible."

"'Beets are the most vulgar fruit known to man. They are so vulgar that their vulgarity is part of their Latin name: _beta vulgaris_.' Huh. I did not know that."

"It's not a reference to their taste or breeding," Dwight put in. "_Vulgaris_, as any idiot knows, is a Latin word meaning 'common,' or 'of the people.'"

"Soooo…you're saying beets are really the people's fruit."

"Vegetables. But your point is otherwise valid."

Andy returned his attention to the page. For a second, it looked as though he were planning to continue reading the whole thing out loud.

"Did you know," Dwight asked, "that beets have been found in pyramids?"

"Huh," Andy said. His eyes wandered down to the paper.

If the pyramids weren't enough to grab someone's attention, Dwight knew what would. "Did you know," he asked, an edge of urgency in his voice, "that beets are an aphrodisiac?"

"Really?" Andy asked, and Dwight suddenly remembered that the clueless little man was still dating his monkey.

"No," he said. "I made that up. But I would recommend licorice."

"As an aphrodisiac?"

"Yes."

"Hm…."

Dwight used Andy's pause for thought to pounce, snatching the paper from his hand. "The point is, this purportedly innocent fact sheet is actually a scurrilous attack on the character of the noble beet."

"The noble…."

"Noble. Beet."

"Okay, okay. Where'd it come from?"

"Botantists don't know for sure when the first beets…."

"Not the beet, the fact sheet."

Dwight snorted. "More like fiction sheet."

"Somebody must have brought it in."

"Jim."

"Tuna?"

"Everything that goes wrong around here," Dwight said, "can be traced back to Jim."

"Everything?" Andy asked in a reflective tone, gazing up at the ceiling tiles with his brow furrowed.

"Yes."

"So let's get him."

"What?"

"Let's get him," said Andy, more assertively. "People shouldn't just get away with these things."

"You're suggesting we bring our ranking officer to justice."

Andy nodded grimly. Dwight's mind began racing. He had been thwarted each of the myriads of times he had tried to catch Jim out, but he had never had help in the past.

"It might work," he mused. "If..." He jerked his head up and surveyed Andy.

"If…?" Andy asked uneasily.

"You'll have to be stealthy."

"No problem."

"I'm serious. Catching Jim in the act will take the reflexes of a feral jungle cat."

"Just call me Simba."

"You're thinking of the savannah."

"Pardon?"

Dwight sighed. If he were going to keep correcting everything Andy said, nothing would get accomplished. "Never mind. Our first step is to find out where this paper came from." He held it up to the light.

"Any watermark?"

"No," said Dwight, "but that's not a problem." Andy appeared horrified, yet powerless to look away, as Dwight put the corner of the paper into his mouth and sucked on it. After removing it from his mouth, he smacked his lips a few times and performed several bizarre tongue contortions. "5700 Multipurpose White," he concluded.

"Our standard office paper," supplied Andy.

"Precisely."

"We should run some tests. Figure out which printer it came from."

"You take the two in the front," said Dwight. "I'll take the two in the back."

He headed for the annex without waiting for Andy's reply. Fortunately, Kelly was on the phone—fortunately, since he had no doubt she would have slowed him down considerably by offering up some inane celebrity factoids before he even got a chance to take a breath, and he was on a mission.

Toby looked confused upon hearing Dwight's request, but then Dwight was used to Toby looking confused.

"Was something wrong with your paycheck?"

"No."

"Well then, why do you need a printout of your last time card?"

Dwight thought quickly. "I periodically run an audit to ensure that the company's records of the percentage of my income that goes to the government match my own records."

"An audit."

"It takes much of the headache out of tax season, I can assure you."

Toby shook his head, but he pulled up the file and printed it.

"Thank you," said Dwight. "You won't regret it."

"Why would I…" Toby began, but the kitchen door was already swinging shut behind Dwight.

"Stanley," Dwight said curtly.

"Mm-hm?" Stanley didn't look up from his crossword puzzle.

"I need you to print something for me."

"Print it yourself."

"My printer is…broken."

Stanley wasn't convinced. "You can't print to any printer in the office?"

This was something that hadn't occurred to Dwight in his rush to collect evidence. "It would be faster," he said, trying to save face, "if you could just print it for me now."

"It would've been faster if you hadn't stopped to talk to me in the first place," said Stanley, filling in a word.

"Are you…just print it, okay?"

Stanley shook his head. "No."

Dwight got to his desk in five steps, flopped down into his chair, and selected a fax cover sheet to print. As he walked back to the printer near Stanley to pick up the document, he scanned the office for any sign of Andy. The other man was in the accounting department, flirting shamelessly with Angela. Despite the annoyed looks she was giving her current boyfriend, Dwight gritted his teeth. He himself had seen plenty of those annoyed looks that she made up for later. Although not ever with actual apologies….

Andy looked over in Dwight's direction and waved, pointing to the two pages he held in his other hand. Dwight leapt up and led the way into the conference room, shutting the door as soon as Andy was inside. They spread the four papers they had just collected across the table, and placed the libelous beet article above them.

"Here," said Dwight, jabbing his finger at one of the fresh pages. "The annex printer is dropping toner. That rules that one out." He pushed the page aside, then stood back, folding his arms across his chest.

"All the rest of them kind of look the same," said Andy.

"I know."

"We're actually getting some great print quality here."

"Yes," Dwight admitted grudgingly. "That's true."

"What now?"

Dwight grimaced.

"Can we interrogate suspects?"

"That's the most logical course of action," Dwight said. "But we'll have to get them alone. We can't let them know why we want to see them, or they'll have time to concoct cover stories."

"Let me handle it." Andy sauntered back to his desk and sat down, looking for all the world as though he didn't intend to come back.

Dwight stared through the blinds for a while, willing Andy to look over so that the slacker could be properly glared at, but to no avail. Suddenly, he remembered that he had overlooked a crucial part of the investigation: notifying Michael.

Michael didn't look pleased when Dwight slipped into his office and shut the door behind him. He fumbled for his mouse to minimize the internet browser screen he had been studying. Such a precaution was pointless, especially as Dwight himself had been the one to recommend that particular site.

"What is it?" asked Michael, not making eye contact.

"It's Jim."

"What, again?" came the irritated response. "Dwight, I am not your babysitter. I am your boss. And…."

"And my role model," put in Dwight.

"No. Well, yes. Role model, of course. But what I was going to say was, I can't solve all your problems. Nobody can solve your problems but you." He made eye contact so abruptly that Dwight took a half step backwards. "Besides, who solves _my_ problems? Nobody. Nobody cares about _my_ problems."

"I gave you the web address for that dating service."

"Yeah, exactly, Dwight," Michael said scornfully. "And I can't even…I can't even get it to accept my profile. It keeps saying there's too many characters."

"So it needs to be shorter."

"It cannot be shorter. Maybe for boring guys like you it could, but mine cannot be any shorter than this."

"Michael…."

"Do you think you could call the website people and see about making this field larger?"

"Michael, this is important. It's about a misuse of company property."

"My _heart_ has been seriously misused. And my _heart_ belongs to this company. So…where are your priorities?"

Before Dwight could answer, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Michael called.

Andy opened the door a few inches and stuck his face through the opening. "First witness," he hissed.

"Michael," Dwight said, "I have to leave you now. But I swear I will return."

"No. Don't come back. Please." As Dwight rounded the corner to the conference room, he heard: "Don't forget about calling the website people."

Andy and Phyllis were seated across from each other at the conference table, Phyllis fiddling surreptitiously with her pen. The moment Dwight closed the conference room door behind him, she leaned forward and addressed Andy.

"I probably shouldn't be doing this on work time, but since it's for Bob—how can I help?"

Dwight shot a questioning look at Andy.

"Well," Andy began, "we've been thinking of replacing the office refrigerator, and we wondered: would a Vance Refrigeration product be able to handle, say…beets?"

"Beets?" asked Phyllis. "I don't understand."

"It's a simple question," Dwight jumped in, filled with a grudging admiration of Andy's subtle interrogation technique. "Does Bob sell a refrigerator that can properly refrigerate beets?"

"Sure, why wouldn't he?"

"Good question," rejoined Dwight. "Why _wouldn't_ he?"

"Do _you_ like beets, Phyllis?" Andy asked.

"My grandmother used to make spiced beets every Thanksgiving. They aren't my _favorite_ vegetable, but it's a holiday tradition now, so…."

"Did you say 'vegetable'?" Dwight asked. Phyllis nodded. Dwight shot a look at Andy and shook his head. She wasn't the one.

"Thank you very kindly for the information," said Andy. "That's about all we need for now."

Phyllis looked perplexed. "But what about…."

"We'll get back to you," said Dwight, holding the door open for her.

Kevin, Oscar, and Creed came in a group, under the impression that they were to be an alternate party planning committee.

"You know what we've never had?" Kevin asked. "A kegger." A broad, wistful grin spread slowly across his face.

"I am not drinking that swill you make here in the office, if that's what you're suggesting," protested Oscar.

"I'd _rather_ drink swill," said Creed. "Sharper flavor."

"What would you say to beet juice?" said Dwight.

"Who's asking?" Creed retorted.

Dwight stared at him. "_I'm_ asking."

"Huh." The older man shrugged and folded his arms. "Hello, and welcome."

"Welcome where?" Andy queried.

"To the beet juice. That's what I would say to it. Since Dwayne is asking."

Dwight waved a hurriedly dismissive hand. "Yeah, thanks, Creed, you can go."

"Right-o."

Oscar shook his head. "Sometimes I'm very glad Meredith sits between Creed and Accounting," he muttered to Kevin, who chuckled and then appeared to remember the question that had preceded Creed's tangent.

"Do we _have_ to drink beet juice?" asked Kevin. "I'd much rather have a real kegger. Even just a root beer kegger."

"Good luck with any of those," said Oscar. "You know how Angela feels about anything related to beer. Or beets, for that matter."

Dwight's head snapped to attention so fast everyone in the room could hear the cracking sound his neck made. "Thank you, gentlemen. You may go."

Oscar didn't wait for Dwight to change his mind, but Kevin hung back. "You'll think about the kegger though, right?"

"Yes," Dwight replied. "Certainly."

Kevin walked out of the room with a smile on his face, having failed to pick up on his co-worker's abstracted manner.

"Do you want me to call in Meredith now?"

Dwight shuddered at the suggestion. "No. That won't be necessary."

"Should we get right to Jim, then? Now that we've at least pretended to investigate most of the others?"

"No. Thank you. I'll take it from here."

"But I wanna nail this guy!" barked Andy. "He can't get away with abusing people's property like this!"

"Property?"

Andy took a few deep breaths. "You know, never mind. It was probably all in good fun, right? Bygones, and all that, right?" And he harrumphed his way out of the room and sat morosely at his desk, obviously ready to glare at Jim for the rest of the afternoon.

"Hey, Dwight," said Pam as he neared the receptionist's desk. "Did you find whoever…ohhhh…." She trailed off as he kept walking, heading straight for the small blond woman in the accounting department who stared persistently at her computer screen.

"I need to talk to you," he whispered.

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You can say whatever you want about me, but when you start intentionally spreading lies about…."

Angela stood up abruptly and walked quickly towards the break room.. "I'm going for a snack. Andy, can I get you anything?" She didn't pause for his reaction, which made no difference to him because he was still too busy simmering over Jim's getting off scot-free to notice she had spoken at all.

Dwight allowed an interval of a few seconds to go by—more out of habit than an actual desire for secrecy—and then snuck into the break room after her. He filled a cup with hot water as she plunked coins into the nearest vending machine.

"Your beets mean more to you than anything, hm?"

"No," he murmured earnestly. "That isn't…."

"Sprinkles meant more to _me_ than anything."

"More than _anything_? More than…possums?"

"Possums eat trash. Trash like beets."

Dwight inhaled sharply, as if she had punched him in the stomach. "So what is this? Are you trying to get even?"

"We can _never_ be even," she said, and she bustled out of the room, throwing a bag of M&M's at Andy on her way back to her corner.

Dwight couldn't help but think that his day had been going better back when he thought the beet slurs were a practical joke of Jim's. Angela hated him. Really, truly hated him. There was nothing he could do to change that. He suppressed a sigh as he stepped out of the break room and surveyed the office.

There was nothing left to give his life meaning.

Suddenly, he noticed that Michael's door was closed. Ears keenly attuned to his superior's distress, he heard muffled groans and the telltale repetitive clicking of the backspace key.

With renewed purpose, Dwight hurried back to his desk.

He had a phone call to make.


End file.
